Pitter-patter

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The raindrops splash onto the windows and slowly drip their way down to the panes. Occasionally, the minute outward splash that bounces off the panes makes its way onto the window sill. The aroma of fresh rain fills the room with a pale yet distinct blue, like the blue of a cloudless sky on a bright summer day. The hush-plush of tyres on wet tarmac ebb and flow, its rhythm picking up speed and and slowing down constantly. Hush-plush, hush-plush.

Outside, the lights of the 'G' reflect against the low clouds, lighting up the night sky like a spotlight in a dark auditorium. A train far away rumbles from east to west, its passengers spotting the illuminated windows. Along the pavement, a solitary man walks hurriedly against the direction of the traffic, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his thick fur coat, his neck huddled into his scarf. Head down, so as to avoid the increasingly heavy rainfall and chilly wind.

I close the window and snuggle under the covers, thankful for the warmth of my bedside lamp. I open my book to the page where the Musei Vaticani bookmark was last placed, and my eyes find comfort in a good story whilst my mind slowly drifts away to a land far, far away.

Take care.